Tuesday, November 10, 2009

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on downOf the big lake they call Gitche GumeeThe lake, it is said, never gives up her deadWhen the skies of November turn gloomy.

With a load of iron ore, 26,000 tons moreThan the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed emptyThat good ship and crew was a bone to be chewedWhen the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the American sideComing back from some mill in WisconsinAs the big freighters go it was bigger than mostWith a crew and the captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with a couple steel firmsWhen they left fully loaded for ClevelandAnd later that night when the ship's bell rangCould it be the North Wind they'd been feeling?

The wind in the wires made a tattletale soundAnd a wave broke over the railingAnd every man knew, as the captain did, too,T'was the witch of November come stealing.

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to waitWhen the gales of November came slashingWhen afternoon came it was freezing rainIn the face of a hurricane west wind

When supper time came the old cook came on deckSaying fellas it's too rough to feed yaAt 7 PM a main hatchway caved inHe said fellas it's been good to know ya.

The captain wired in he had water coming inAnd the good ship and crew were in perilAnd later that night when his lights went out of sightCame the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does anyone know where the love of God goesWhen the waves turn the minutes to hours?The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish BayIf they'd put fifteen more miles behind her.

They might have split up or they might have capsizedThey may have broke deep and took waterAnd all that remains is the faces and the namesOf the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior singsIn the rooms of her ice water mansionOld Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,The islands and bays are for sportsmen.

And farther below Lake OntarioTakes in what Lake Erie can send herAnd the iron boats go, as the mariners all know,With the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayedIn the Maritime Sailors' CathedralThe church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 timesFor each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on downOf the big lake they call Gitche GumeeSuperior, it's said, never gives up her deadWhen the gales of November come early.

- Gordon Lightfoot.

Although often overlooked in the story of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the crews of the freighters Arthur M. Anderson and William Clay Ford should be remembered, too. They were the closest ships when the Fitzgerald sank, and went back to look for survivors (there were none) in spite of the fact that the severe storm which had just sunk the Fitzgerald could have sent them to the same fate. The Anderson still sails the great lakes today, 57 years since she was launched and 34 years since the wreck of the Fitzgerald in the November, 1975 gale.

23 comments:

I always liked the song (and Gordon, back in the day) but really didn't know the rest of the story. Isn't bravery an amazing thing? It certainly makes you wonder how you would act in a similar situation.

I heard they recently finally pieced together what actually happened during that storm. They found the wreck and took the bell off the stern but of course left everything else alone, and did not publicly acknowledge the location to prevent treasure hunters from sullying the grave site.

I always loved this song. An older relative in southern Ontario worked for a steel mill and remembers the Edmund Fitzgerald stopping there. It is amazing how many shipwrecks there are in Lake Superior.

Thank you for revisiting a musical piece that has always sent goose bumps all over my body. I hail from Wisconsin, somewhere along the Chippewa. Things like this always tug at your heart stronger iffin' you have some sort of connection to the tragedy.

Thank you for re-posting. I grew up in Minnesota, and still go to Duluth Harbor every summer to have lunch at Grandma's (the restaurant) and watch the ore boats come and go under the harbor lift bridge. It was one of my favorite things to do as a child, and now it is one of my son's favorite things to do. Having seen many of these ships up close, I cannot begin to imagine what it must have taken to sink her without a trace.

Late to the party (my best friend just introduced me to your blog, and I'm catching up bit by bit). I just wanted to say thank you...this will be my ninth Mother's Day without my mom, and I really miss her.

And then, I see this. "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" was her favorite song. Thanks, Dr. Grumpy, for the teary smile and the memories.

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